Life in Avoid

Thursday, November 15, 2018

My youngest son's team played in 40 degree weather in the pouring rain to win the Bigs Championship game for his football league. The game had been postponed two days because the home fields were flooded, and there had been talk of not playing the game at all. But the players and coaches said, "No way. We'll play in a parking garage if we have to."

And they meant it.

He will age out of the league after this year, so it is terribly bittersweet to know he has taken the field for NYO for the last time. Although our time there has been short — three football seasons — it has been incredibly impactful. I actually wonder if playing multiple sports for many years there might have actually diluted the impact that these three particular seasons have had on my son and my family. I know that have fertilized my growing love of the sport of football — when played by good kids with great coaches for the love of the game.

Season 1 —5th Grade — Crimson Tide

NYO 2016 — Army team supports Jordan's brother during Basic Training.

Jordan's first season playing tackle football was while his brother Sandy was in Army Basic Training in Missouri, so he never got to see his little brother play. When the NYO Army coach heard that a Crimson Tide player had a brother serving, he made posters for Sandy and planned a photo of the two teams that we could send to him. He also got American flag stickers for our team's helmets.

The Army coach didn't have to do this. I honestly don't even know how he knew. Maybe our coach told him? Maybe he heard through the grapevine? But regardless of how it happened ... it happened ... and our family was blessed.

Same team! Convenient for teachers who came to watch.

It was also the first season playing tackle for two of his friends from school who were in the same age group. All were nervous about having to play against each other. Or worse ... two of them being on a team together and the third being by himself. But God orchestrated it so that all three were together on one team. The coaches didn't know who they were or what school they went to when they drafted them. Each was a complete unknown. But they played together. And our family was blessed.

Jordan's coaches were amazing. They were tough and supportive and funny and great teachers. They had a team full of first-time players and therefore everyone assumed the team would be weak.

They. Were. Not. Weak.

Coaches James, Penn, and Howard taught them fundamentals and had fun at the same time. They yelled like banshees and made fun of themselves for doing so. And they won the championship. They said that they gauge their success not by the standings, but by how many of their players want to come back and play football again the next year. Well, regardless of which metric you use — record or retention rate — they are off the charts. We would be back for another season. And our family was blessed.

Season 2 — 6th Grade — Steelers

Jordan was drafted by the same coaches the next year, which was a little surprising, but tickled us to death. Jordan had a great first year, he's a big kid, and was named to the All-Star Team, so he was no longer an unknown. Other teams were eyeing him. But the coaches wanted him back, so they drafted him early. We were ecstatic.

Then he broke his knuckle on Labor Day at football practice. (Just FYI ... knuckles are not strong enough to withstand being stepped on by a 6th grade boy wearing cleats. Just so ya' know.)

That was the end of his season playing, but not the end of his season. His coaches made him team captain multiple times. They let him help coach and organize practices. They even planned a surprise banner for him playing off his nickname of Edge. He came to all the games and most of the practices and he learned lessons that can only be learned by not playing.

But the boy still wanted to play. And he couldn't. This picture was captured at a playoff game and the coach sent it to me with a note saying, "Just a kid who wants to play some ball with his buddies." It's one of my favorite pictures of him because it captures his season in a beautiful — yet heartwrenching — manner.

He just wants to play...

His team lost in the semi-finals, and on some level he felt personally responsible. He cried the tears of a boy on the sidelines who wanted desperately to be in the game. They say to "leave everything on the field" — but he hadn't. Because he never even got to step on. That was a hard conversation to have with him. But our family was blessed.

The Final Season — 7th Grade — Raiders

Where do I start?

First, Jordan was drafted by the same coaches for the third year in a row. Unheard of. I got an email while the draft was still going on.

Then I realized that the son of a sorority sister of mine from college was on the same team.

And that she had cancer.

And that she would only make it to one game before she passed.

Katherine died at home on Saturday, September 22.
Another player lost his beloved grandfather on Monday, September 24.
Both boys played with their team on Tuesday, September 25.

Jordan, Me, Katherine, and Tripp on September 5

That was our only loss of the season. They played like a team that had had the shit kicked out of them — which they had. The boys were all processing hard things and asking hard questions and working through hard emotions. And honestly, they were scared. Who would be next to lose someone they love? And it's hard to do that and play football with your whole heart because football requires your whole heart, if only for 32 minutes.

But then they played again. And again. And again.

There is something about playing a team sport in general — and football in particular — that pulls boys together. They let themselves feel the gut punch for a time, then they got back on the field and played.

The Hurricane (Michael) Bowl of 2018

They played in the heat.

In a hurricane.

Through a tornado warning.

In the dark.

They played through the one-year anniversary of the death of another player's father — the only football coach he had ever had prior to this year.

They played with 12 players — when 11 are on the field at a time — more than once.

And finally, at the championship game, they played on an unfamiliar field in the cold and rain.

They played with two members of their team on the bench with injuries — right where Jordan had been the year before.

They just want to play too

The coaches had told them the day before the game that at halftime one team was going to be cold and wet and miserable. And one team wouldn't be feeling a thing. If they wanted to be that second team, they'd better come ready to play from the first snap.

They came. And they played. And they were boys. And they were men. And they had been to hell and back together. And they prevailed.

And our family was blessed.

But not because of a (second) championship. We were blessed because of the lessons that were learned on a field of grass over the course of those three seasons.

You don't write off a team or teammate because they aren't experienced.

You pray for the impossible — and sometimes it happens.

You support other teams because you're only their opponents on the field, for one day.

You're on the team whether you play or not.

It's OK to be sad or mad or hurt when something bad happens and you couldn't do anything to stop it.

But it's not OK to put the blame on yourself.

When someone sticks their neck out for you — when they choose you — you owe them your best. Better than your best.

Sisterhood is forever. #ChiOmega #KeepRolleN #ShesStillSwimming

You should hurt when your brothers hurt.

You should help your brothers bounce back when the time is right.

You shouldn't expect conditions to always be favorable. Embrace the suck.

Thank you to the coaches and the coaches' wives and the teammates and the other families and the officials and the team moms and everyone at NYO who have been a village to my boy these past three years. We will miss you. But we are not leaving empty handed.

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

My husband and I had three lovely days at the beach this summer. We slept late. Bought fancy cheeses and desserts at the grocery store. We read books, watched movies, and took long walks on the shore with our dog. We had a long, relaxing lunch at a nice restaurant with good friends who live at the beach full-time.

What we didn't do is take our children with us.

Oh, we were supposed to. We were all supposed to ride down and spend the first three days with just the younger two before their older brothers joined us. You see, we've entered that stage of parenting where older kids have real jobs and can't always take a whole week off to go on the family trip to the beach.

So it would be just us and the youngest two.
For three days.And I was not happy about it.

Here's the back story:

See? Aren't they cute? We even dressed them alike.

My two youngest boys don't get along. It wasn't always this way. They used to be best buds.

But as they got older, they turned, just like milk left out in the hot sun.

It does ebb and flow, but when it's bad I don't want to be around them. And before you chime in with suggestions, know that We. Have. Tried. EVERYTHING.

Forcing them to be together • Forcing them to be apart • The t-shirt of brotherly love • Shared bedroom • Separate bedrooms • Sending them to their separate rooms with instructions to lock the doors • Sending them into the yard to fist fight until they got tired or someone won • Losing privileges • Losing activities • Taking the thing they were fighting over • Chores done together • Chores done separately • Discussions on brotherly love, forgiveness, and turning the other cheek • Writing 100 times "I will not hit my brother" • Incentives and rewards of all types

You name it, we've tried it. Nothing works for long, if at all.

It's so bad that we intentionally sent them to different schools and didn't let them play the same sports or participate in the same activities. "Nope, you can't play lacrosse/play football/play piano/take dance lessons/whatever. Your brother does. And you don't need one more thing to compete at."

But the week before our vacation, I had a realization. I did not want to go. Or, more specifically, I did not want to go with them. They were going through one of their vitriolic stages which climaxed with older brother putting his lacrosse stick through younger brother's door. (Yes, he's paying to replace it. That's not the point.)

The point is I was dead tired and needed this vacation, but I didn't want to go. I knew I would come back more tired than when I left.

So when Herb walked into the bedroom the day before we were supposed to leave and looked at my face, he knew something was very, very wrong.

Me: I don't want to go on vacation with them. I don't want to be in the same room with them. If I have to drive to South Carolina with them, we may not all make it alive.

Herb: Do you want me to send the boys to bootcamp at Torrie's instead of taking them to the beach? Me: Yes.Herb: I was kidding.Me: I'm not. Call her.

Torrie and me (and Grace in the middle)

You see, Torrie is my neighbor, girlfriend, girl-crush, and just all around amazing friend. We met three years ago when her husband asked to borrow our mower, and we have been like family ever since.

I have seen her cop an attitude with her own kids that can best be described as, "I love you dearly, but I'm considering selling you. Keep on doing that. Help me make up my mind."

I trust her with my kids, and she has my full permission to parent them however she sees fit whenever they are in her presence, whether I am there or not. So when Herb suggested sending the boys to Torrie, he knew exactly what he was suggesting.

A few phone calls later, and a discussion between Torrie and her husband Joe, and the plan was set. The kids were going to Camp Brotherly Love, and Herb and I were going to the beach.

My boys and Torrie's son

And I had a wonderful trip.

My boys slept in a two-person tent in Torrie's sunroom. This was not a "sleepover" with her kids.

They worked at the Atlanta Streets Alive Festival with Torrie and Joe and the booth for their bike rental business. #BikeBox They earned their keep.

They ate leftovers when Torrie didn't want to cook. This was not vacation, y'all. You're missing that to be here.

They wrote letters of apology to us and had heart-to-hearts with Torrie and Joe.

And when they drove down on Tuesday with their older brother, Sandy, he said they were perfect gentlemen to him and to each other.

And the rest of our vacation was lovely.

When they got there, Herb and I took them out to breakfast to talk, and it was good. Very good. We learned some things that we may have done wrong as parents. (Ok, treating them like twins when they're not wasn't necessarily the best thing.) We were able to pinpoint when their relationship turned and why. And we were able to talk ... and laugh ... and listen ... and even cry a little.

Wednesday, May 2, 2018

Because it's May and I have a kid graduating from middle school and because this year seems to have been about ten years long ... I give you one of my favorite post of all time. It comes from my old blog before I moved to Avoid. (It's called Domestic Diva Disaster, and it's got some funny stuff.)

I wrote it in 2014 in response to Jen Hatmaker's post from 2013 about being the Worst End of School Mom Ever. She reposted a link to that blog on her Facebook yesterday. So I figure if she can bring hers back out, I can bring out my response.

In 2014 my younger kids were in 3rd grade and 2nd grade. Elementary school is very different from middle school, I will give you that. Each has its own things that make you want to pull your hair out. But whether your kids are 5 or 15, I think by May we are all DONE.

Enjoy!

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Dateline: May 16, 2014

Last year, Jen Hatmaker wrote an
amazingly wonderful blog post about being the Worst End of School Mom Ever. By
taking off the mask and revealing this about herself, all of the rest crappy
May Moms have breathed a sigh of relief, given each other the knuckle bump of
solidarity, and aired our End of Year dirty laundry to one another.

It has truly been cathartic.

The one thing that Jen's post did
not include was a true remedy for this problem. Therefore, I have a deal to
propose. It's a deal between teachers and parents. And if necessary, we can get
school administration involved. But let's do what we can to keep them out of
it, shall we? This can be our little secret.

First, in case you haven't read
Jen's post, some background from my own life...

August Lunch

How Awesome
August Becomes Monstrous May

I think we can all agree that in
August, we as parents ROCKED. We packed cool lunches, we signed things with
legible signatures, we diligently checked homework and backpacks, and we
quizzed our kids on spelling words and math facts. I'm going to call this
August Me.

But it's May. August Me is gone.

MIA.

Dead. Or at least in hiding.

August Me skipped town somewhere
around April 25 when we had Shakespeare Day (with costumes) and Colonial Day
(with costumes) in different grades on the same day.

With both hubby and I as parent
volunteers. In costumes.

April Shakespeare Day (with costumes)

After that, the last few drops of
August Me were spent and I had nothing left to give for the last month of
school. I still look like August Me on the outside, but the inside I'm all May.
If you look deep inside, you might see a few dried drops of glitter glue and a
balled up napkin that says, "Love you Buddy! Have a GREAT Day!"

You see, August Me had fresh
stashes of all things artsy craftsy. She wrote little notes to her kids and put
them in their lunch boxes. She remembered things, and she cared.

But at the end of April, she hit
the road, Jack.

This was evidenced in all its
pathetic reality this morning.

My 8yo's class was supposed to wear
navy shirts to school today. Simple. I am the Class Mom for the class, so I
knew this. The original email about this went out weeks ago. I sent a reminder
on Sunday. And another one yesterday.

Whose kid do you think showed up
with the wrong shirt?

Um......

Like I said. May Me is an empty shell
of what August Me once was.

So here's my proposition. In
recognition that by May, teachers also are spent, kaput, and wiped out — they
just hide it a lot better — let's all agree to the following.

In
the last month of school, teachers will not...

1. Require the children to come
to school in costume. Or in matching colors. Or coat and tie. Unless the
costume is "Typical American 3rd Grader" we stand completely firm and
united on this one. It's a deal breaker.

2. Assign creative projects.
No dioramas of a Colonial village, wood carvings of the Santa Maria, or models
of the Roman Coliseum made out of sugar cubes. Cutting paper dolls out of
construction paper is acceptable if it is done in the classroom, not at home.

3. Assign research projects or
papers. Book reports are fine, as long as the report requires no parental
working knowledge of said book. Unless it's Goodnight Moon, because we
probably still have that one memorized.

4. Schedule field trips that
require parent chaperoning. Have the Reptile Guy bring the python into the
classroom. We're totally OK with that. In August we might have preferred
the snake be behind protective glass, but hey, it's May. In May, anything goes.

In exchange, we as parents agree
not to hold teachers responsible for teaching anything new in May. Let's just
call May "National Review and Recess Month."

Do we have a deal?

We stand united as parents and with
our children's teachers who are AWESOME all the time. But let's be honest. We
are all counting the hours until summer when we will recharge our batteries by
having peanut butter sandwiches and Cheetos for lunch every day for three
months.

When we will refresh our souls with
chlorinated water.

When we drop our kids off at camp
knowing that when we retrieve them in the afternoon, there will not be a list
of assignments to complete before arriving back the next day.

Friday, April 27, 2018

I occasionally have the privilege to use my writing to tell some pretty incredible stories. This is one such story. Thank you to LaTonya Gates-Boston and her husband Carlos for letting me tell their tale of redemption and flourishing. You are doing wonderful things in Avoid, and I am grateful you have allowed me to be a part of it. To learn more about PAWKids, please visit their website or Facebook page.

The reality hit home in the middle of the night.

LaTonya
Gates-Boston, Executive Director of PAWkids, was startled to find her husband
Carlos was just climbing into bed at 2am that Sunday night. (Or, really, Monday
morning.) Instead of getting mad at him for waking her — or being concerned
that it was so late — she quietly listened to him talk about what had kept him
up and out so late.

LaTonya and Carlos

“I
was up all night, just walking through the Gathering Place, thinking ‘how in
the world did we do this?’” said Carlos. “This is beautiful! I just can’t
believe it’s here. I mean … how is this even possible?”

This
sense of wonderment came on the heels of the Grand Opening of the Gathering Place,
an extension ministry of PAWkids, which officially launched on February 17.

LaTonya
says she was both shocked and excited when more than 150 people came to visit
the Gathering Space during its Open House. She had hoped for about 50.

Carlos
was shocked, too. But also humbled to walk through the rooms and consider the
hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars that PAWkids supporters have poured
into this little blue house. A house that is already pouring back into the
community.

Why Gather?

Throughout
the Bible, God’s people are always gathering. Gathering for worship, gathering
for sacrifice, gathering for meetings, gathering for celebrations, gathering
for mourning. God even promises that “the time is coming to gather all nations
and tongues. And they shall come and see my glory.” (Isaiah 66:18)

A place to gather in Avoid

The
vision for the Gathering Place is an open space that will allow neighbors to
mix and mingle, hold meetings and classes, and get people out of their houses
and into the community. But LaTonya’s plans for the Gathering Place seem to
grow every time she talks about it.

“There
are so many things we can do with this beautiful space,” said LaTonya. “I want
to have classes here, and Bible studies, and tutoring. I even want moms and
dads to be able to come and sit down and have a cup of coffee and a muffin and
just hang out with each other.”

Within
weeks of opening, the Gathering Place is already proving itself an asset to the
Grove Park neighborhood. A parenting workshop meets around the large kitchen
table twice a month, and an Atlanta doctor holds clinic hours once a month,
providing free primary care to Grove Park residents. Also in the works are a
family Bible study and GED classes.

Every House Has a Story

The little white house on Hortense before the renovation

The
Gathering Place has been the home of a lot of firsts already. The previous resident
was named Phil and the house at 676 Hortense Place belonged to his aunt and
uncle. When they moved into the house in the early 1970s, they were the first
black family to live on the street. In addition, they were the first in their
family to own their own home.

In
2017, when Phil realized he needed to move out of the house, he knew what he
wanted to do with it.

“He
didn’t want it to be sold to just anybody. He wanted us to have it,” says
LaTonya. “But for what, I didn’t yet know.”

And
she certainly didn’t know how they were going to pay for it. Or renovate it. Or
furnish it. While the neat 1950s bungalow looked in decent shape from the
outside, the inside told a different story. But like God renovates people from
the inside out, He had plans to do the same in that very important house.

There was much work to be done

A Vision Takes Shape

The
first person to take an interest in LaTonya’s vision for the Gathering Place
was Justin Bleeker. Justin runs Grove Park Renewal, a community-minded housing partner that invests in vacant and blighted Grove Park properties with the goal of repurposing them in ways that benefit the Grove Park neighborhood, particularly current residents. Grove Park Renewal purchased the house and sold it to PAWKids so they wouldn't need outside financing.

But that just bought the house. There was still oh, so much work to be done before anyone could gather there.

“It
had active leaks in the roof, tons of mold, layers of carpet on top of one
another that were rotting, there was water getting in everywhere,” said
LaTonya. Phil simply hadn’t been able to keep up with needed repairs over the
years, and the house’s infrastructure had suffered. Or, rather, crumbled.

But
with donations from friends and and community partners, and construction help
from Grove Park Renewal, slowly the house began to take shape.

“The
PAWkids kids came and helped knock down walls,” said LaTonya. “They worked hard
on this house! They know the house is also for their families.”

Groups
from Whitefield Academy, Atlanta Westside Church, MAP Project, and Perimeter
Church invested hundreds of hours working on the house, breaking it down so
they could build it back up again. Friends who heard of their furnishing needs
started donating pieces for the Gathering Place. Carlos even took some of the
furniture that was left behind in the house and lovingly repaired and
refinished it himself.

And slowly, day by day, the house began to take
shape. And then one day … it was done.

The Grand Opening came and went … and Carlos had
his middle-of-the-night walk through the house. And LaTonya keeps talking about
the Gathering Place. Her wheels are turning and her hands are moving as she
gets more and more excited about the possibilities.

If you ask her what’s her favorite part of the
house, she smiles like a kid in a candy store.

“The
kitchen. Definitely the kitchen,” she says. “I knew it would be nice. I wanted
it to be nice. But I didn’t know it would be this nice!”

Cooking class with the PAWKids kids

LaTonya hopes to have cooking classes so that the community can learn some simple ways
to cook more healthy food, and also perhaps taste foods from other cultures.

“When
you do a lot of your grocery shopping at the Family Dollar, it’s hard to know
what to cook your family that’s healthy and easy and different,” said LaTonya.

“Imagine
if there were Gathering Places all over Grove Park and other neighborhoods like
it. Real community spaces where people can gather and grow and learn and just
be together,” said LaTonya. And perhaps that’s the story of hope that PAWkids
can help tell again and again.

Friday, January 5, 2018

Something happened a while ago, that I have struggled to put into words.

How do you tell a story that was both funny and heart-wrenching? Can you tell a story without making it seem like a joke and without losing the hilarity of the situation? Can you do both/and instead of either/or?

I'm going to try, so I ask for your grace in case I err too far on one side or the other.

It was probably two years ago when I was supposed to meet my friend Denise for lunch. I was at home with the kids trying to work and be mom and probably failing at both.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

When my almost-20-year-old was young, I went on my first Mom Strike. At the time, I was a stay-at-home Mom with one 5-year-old son. One morning at breakfast, he apparently thought I was moving a little slowly.

Fourth Truth: We found an option that would allow us to fix these problems. But God would have to show up in a big way.

The small, private, Christian school that both boys attended in
the suburbs has a sister school on the other side of Atlanta. The principal
there was the lower-elementary principal at their old school, so I reached out
to her in desperation. I had spent countless hours researching options and many
sleepless nights worrying over my boys' schooling. Their struggles were
different, but they both had social and academic issues to address.

She invited us to visit her school, and it felt like old home week. A familiar face greeted us. The small classes of students were well-behaved — even when the teacher walked out of the room. They were reading good books and discussing the French Revolution and — *gasp* — they talked about and loved Jesus openly. In some ways it felt like slipping into a favorite sweater after two years of scratchy sackcloth. I sat in her office and cried.

The boys visited and loved it. They begged to go. They hounded us every day to get their applications in. They were interviewed. They took placement tests. The only thing standing between them and admission is the parent interview, scheduled for today.

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About Me

Wife and mother of four boys, three cats, and one dog. Recently relocated from suburbia to inner-city Atlanta by choice. On a perpetual search for the perfect chocolate cake, exercise I don't loathe (so I can continue my quest) and people who like what I write.